


This Broken World

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Bisexual Lockwood, Developing Friendships, Headcanon, Lockwood centric, Loneliness, Multi, Poetic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: ""...Though all it really does is show how arbitrary everything is. A ghost kills my sister. My parents die in an accident. Why didtheydie and not me? Believe me, I've looked for an answer, and there isn't one. There's no meaning to any of it."" --Lockwood, The Empty Grave.Death. It is the biggest factor in any agent's life, and Lockwood had seen more than his fair share before he'd even turned sixteen. His parents. His sister. And the third member of new-born agency Lockwood & Co. Robin Hayward.On Robin, and the creation of Lockwood & Co.





	This Broken World

**Author's Note:**

> So when I was rereading the Screaming Staircase, I noticed the mention of a previous assistant by the name of Robin, and as we don't have nearly enough fics about Lockwood's backstory after Jessica's death (Like he was nine when she died, right? I want to know about him growing up and stuff!) Here is my take on it all. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Robin Hayward had been a lot of things in life. He'd been sunshine reflecting off water, he'd been smoke dancing on a stiff breeze, he'd been chaos and laughter and danger and exhilaration. 

In death he was none of these things. In death, he was cold. Silent.

 

***

Anthony Lockwood had never had a best friend before he met George Cubbins. He'd always been a solitary child, wrapped up in a world of his own, upset by the intrusions of the real world into his fantasies. Off with the fairies, his sister used to call him affectionately, ruffling his hair and smiling. 

And then she died, and he woke up time and time again screaming her name, the world wrenching his daydreams out of his bleeding fingers and replacing them with nightmares.

 

When he'd got older, he'd still not been one for making friends. Focused completely on completing the grades and becoming an agent, he could be charming enough when he wanted too, but he wasn't good at making actual connections. He scared people with his intensity. He didn't really mind, though. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that he was better with the dead than the living. 

 

He'd met George on an off chance, he'd been asking around for information about a haunting, George knew everything there was to know. They solved the case together, and gone to get take away afterwards, and over fish and chips recognised themselves in each other. George had seen right through Lockwood's charm, and George's burning desire to understand coincided well with Lockwood's burning desire to overcome. 

They shared the _need_ , for one reason or another, to be agents. Meeting George was like coming home after a long day, and brewing a cup of your favourite tea, sitting back and sipping it slowly, enjoying every flavour it had to offer, every bitterness and tang of spices. 

 

When they'd both got their licenses, the first thing Lockwood did was invite George to join his new, independent agency, and George hadn't hesitated. They'd celebrated over cake at George's mum's house. It had been the first time Lockwood had tasted home made cake in years. 

It took them almost six months to get Lockwood and Co. registered, time they spent running errands and doing minor jobs for other agencies, and Lockwood learnt that George didn't have an easy time making friends either. They argued, and misunderstood each other, and once or twice almost came to blows, but all the while Lockwood couldn't help feeling that he'd gained the brother he never known he'd wanted. 

"Lockwood," George said one day as they stood over the remains of a Spectre, flushed with success-- "Lockwood, I think this agency is the best thing that ever happened to the world."

 

*** 

 

Meeting Robin was like getting caught in a storm, running in the rain until the thunder becomes your heartbeat and the howl of the wind fills your soul. He was a catalyst in human skin.  
At least, that was how Lockwood remembered him. Now he was starting to think Robin had just been a boy who no longer cared if he lived or died, and maybe that was why Lockwood had liked him so much. They'd always had that in common. 

 

He met Robin for the first time when he was on his way home to 35 Portland Row. It was the day after he'd received the letter declaring Lockwood and Co was an official agency, a month after George had moved in. He'd just come from a case, and perhaps that made him slow because he didn't seen the Phantasm until it was right in front of him. Robin happened to be coming down the street just then, and had saved Lockwood's life. 

That was how Lockwood wanted to remember him. He wanted to pretend the life in his eyes never died, that the smile on his face never faded. He could still picture him how he'd looked that night, ginger curls blowing in the wind, striding down the street in his battered old leather jacket, rapier drawn and ready. 

He'd grinned, Lockwood remembered, once they'd dispatched the Phantasm. "All right, there, mate? I'm Robin Hayward. Lone operative. You?" 

"I'm Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood and Co." Lockwood had said, and he hadn't been able to help giving a little chuckle. "Sorry. Newly registered. Slightly overexcited about it. I promise I'm normally better at dealing with Visitors than this."

"Don't worry about it," Robin had said in his strong East End accent. "Lockwood and Co, eh? Very swish. I like it."

"Thank you," Lockwood replied. "It's just me and my friend George at the moment, but--"

"That wouldn't be George Cubbins, would it? Holder of the 'Most bacon sandwiches eaten in one minute' record down at the Blue Pheasant?"

"I don't know, but that does _sound_ like him."

"He broke my record, he did," Robin said ruefully. 

Lockwood made a mental note to never ask George how many sandwiches he'd eaten. The knowledge would probably make him feel sick. 

"Well, if you want to congratulate him, don't hesitate to pop round," Lockwood said. 

"And if you ever need another operative..." Robin shrugged. "Solo work don't really suit me." 

"We'll keep it in mind."

"Well, see ya around, Lockwood. Tell George if he wants a rematch, he knows were to find me." 

 

A month passed before George and Lockwood admitted they did need another agent. Two people just wasn't enough, time after time they ended up in dangerous situations that could have been avoided by having another pair of eyes. 

They were both loath to change the system they had, but agreed that if they had to include another person in Lockwood and Co, then Robin Hayward, lone operative and holder of the record for the second most bacon sandwiches in one minute was the perfect choice. 

Robin readily agreed. He had a lot of brothers and sisters at home, he said. A steady supply of cash, rather than the odd amounts he'd been sending before, would help them out no end. 

So their duo became a trio. Lockwood, George and Robin, a dream team, until they weren't. 

 

***

 

The last morning of Robin's life was a beautiful one. They were all up in good time, as they had a case later that day-- A Floating Bride and a couple of secondary apparitions. Their client was a local estate agents, the house in question was completely empty, so they anticipated an easy night's work. 

Lockwood restocked their supplies of salt and iron. Robin scrubbed patches of old ectoplasm from rapier blades, George hunted out plans of the house and searched through historical records, all ran smoothly. When eight o'clock came, they set out. 

 

20, Victoria Terrace was a decent size, two storeys with what looked like an attic room on top. It had a white stone exterior and large plant pots on either side of the door, and looked far more like a smart, middle class home than a haunted house. But then, it never did to judge these things on appearances alone. 

"What did you find out about this place, George?" Lockwood asked as they stood outside, checking their supplies on more time. 

"Surprisingly little. A large family lived there at one point, although it hasn't been inhabited for about a decade. This Visitor is probably one of them, but I haven't found anything about actual deaths, peaceful or otherwise. Whatever happened here must have been well hidden."

"Great. The Visitor is almost certainly angry, then." Robin said, twirling his rapier so it caught the first beams of moonlight. 

"Aren't they all," George agreed. "All the most unpleasant ones, anyway. I _really_ hope this one has all it's skin..."

But Lockwood hadn't been listening. "George," he said suddenly, "Are you sure you didn't find anything potentially Visitor related?" 

"Yeah. There was nothing, why?"

Lockwood pointed upwards.

"Oh." 

The attic room window was glowing, a faint spectral white. 

"Well, at least we won't be bored, lads," Robin said. He patted Lockwood's shoulder. "C'mon, let's go make Lockwood and Co. the smartest agency this side of London, shall we?" 

They knew better than to linger. The darkness beckoned, and with rapiers drawn, they stepped inside. 

 

***

 

"Robin!" Lockwood's voice echoed around the empty rooms. "Robin, where are you?" 

_Not again. Not again._ Robin's scream had echoed too, and Lockwood had leapt up from his post on the second floor and tore down the stairs as fast as he could, but there hadn't been another sound. He could hear George calling to him from above, but was utterly focused on searching the empty rooms for any kind of sign of what had happened to their missing agent. 

 

Lockwood had never had best friends, and until this moment he'd never known his capacity for loyalty. He knew just then that he'd die for either of them, he'd sacrifice himself for them in an instant if it meant they could live-- 

At the end of the hallway, a crumpled figure lay on the ground. 

No. _No_. 

He skidded to a halt on his knees next to the fallen agent-- _No. No_ \-- Robin didn't move but Lockwood could feel the deathly cold-- 

The Visitor swirled into life behind him. He was up in a instant, and snarled despite the tears on his cheeks. 

It was immediately clear that this was no Floating Bride. The cloud of inky blackness in front of him was surely a Dark Spectre, or something worse; he shouted as loud as he could for George, ignoring the way his voice shook. 

He didn't remember what happened next. He had no memory of whether George heard him, or how the Visitor was subdued, or where the DEPRAC officials came from, and he didn't care. The things that mattered he remembered so clearly that he didn't think they'd ever leave him. Kneeling at Robin's side, touching his cheek, pretending that he wasn't swollen a painful blue with ghost-touch. DEPRAC officials putting Robin on a stretcher, carrying him away, Lockwood still kneeling where he'd died. 

_I never got to say goodbye._

 

How _stupid_ was it that Robin Hayward, who'd had a family and laughed loud enough to make strangers smile, was lying there cold and dead on the floor, and Lockwood who had nothing except revenge to live for was sitting alone in the empty hall, unable to do anything except stare numbly at nothing? It wasn't fair. _It wasn't fair_. 

 

He didn't think he ever would have moved, he would have stayed in that hall forever until he faded away and became just another Visitor embedded in the stones, but George had come up and put his arm around Lockwood's shoulder and lead him home. Dimly, he heard a DEPRAC agent saying "Is he okay?" 

"Yeah," George said, "This was the first time we've lost an agent. He'll be fine, I'm going to get him some tea. I suppose we can go?"

"Yes, we'll get in contact if we need you."

So they'd returned to 35 Portland Row, one agent down. It seemed very quiet. They sat together, nursing mugs of tea and not speaking.

It was just getting light when Lockwood said "We're never losing another agent. Never again." His voice sounded strange in his ears. George had nodded. Dawn broke. Life went on. 

 

Apparently George had found out who died in that house, who's vengeful ghost had been banished that night. Lockwood never asked. George never mentioned it. They let Robin's memory fade. It was better that way. 

 

***

 

Four months later, he met Lucy Carlyle. She sat across from him, handling each of the objects he'd set before her, eyes closed and face thoughtful. She reminded him of deep dark forests, the way dew sparkled in the mornings, and the countryside, with her northern accent and her brittle, fierce courage.  
He liked her. He knew George did too, because he was being as unpleasant as he possibly could without her slapping him.

No one wants to bury their friends. Not again. 

 

***  
_I nodded slowly. "I see. What happened to your last assistant?"_

_"Poor Robin? Oh, he... moved on."_

_"To another job?"_

_"Perhaps "passed on" would be more accurate. Or, indeed, "passed over." Ah-- good! Tea!"_

**Author's Note:**

> A note: I don't have full-time access to the books, as I borrow them from the library, so sorry if some details don't quite fit with the canon. 
> 
> What are _your_ headcanons about Lockwood and George meeting? Or the creation of Lockwood  & Co? I'm dying to to hear.


End file.
